


Always knew the melody but never heard it rhyme

by yuffiehighwind



Series: An Eternity in Cheese Country [23]
Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/M, Family, Got bad writer's block, I have a whole outline but didn't finish writing it, Light Angst, Love Potion/Spell, Magic, Matchmaking, Milwaukee, Modern Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parenthood, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 06:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: Aphrodite travels to 1998 Wisconsin to watch over her son.In which I explain the mystery of how Deimos found Discord in Milwaukee, while continuing to explore my headcanon that Aphrodite is his mother. Yeah, this is another Wisconsin story written just for me, but whatever,  I'm gonna post it here anyway.





	Always knew the melody but never heard it rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the 'fic series "An Eternity in Cheese Country," and here's why - after they were killed by Callisto and Xena, the souls of Strife, Discord, and Deimos were reincarnated in the late 20th century into three humans named Steve, Veronica, and Dave.
> 
> Like in the original Greek myth, Aphrodite and Ares are the parents of Deimos and Phobos, even though Deimos is explicitly their cousin in TV canon. Phobos is not a character in the TV series.
> 
> The Twilight takes place during S5E22 of XWP, “Motherhood.” Events in Wisconsin take place between April 1998 and November 1999. Title is a lyric from the song “The Mother” by Brandi Carlile.
> 
> I'm not even gonna begin to explain what the hell is going on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Goddess of Love has three very different sons, a moody sister and a nephew who's the wannabe god of war. Then the Twilight happens, and it all goes off the rails from there.
> 
> 18 B.C.E. - September 1998

Aphrodite’s twin sons are like fire and ice, while her eldest son is like the wind, body light as the breeze he glides his wings on. Practical and grounded as the Earth, a balance of elements that makes Cupid more dependable than most gods. He’s not without his flaws, but he’s as good a work partner as any. Aphrodite is all about sex, so she needs Cupid to focus on marriage. They shouldn’t meddle in human lives, but they do. All the Olympians do. Then Cupid meets Psyche, and they have a son named Bliss. Aphrodite settles down with Hephaestus, the God of Invention. They find true love in unexpected places, and this, at last, makes them qualified for their jobs. Better late than never.

But three centuries earlier, the Goddess of Love makes one big mistake. One disastrous blunder, sleeping with Ares, the God of War. The baby she feels growing is a stormy blend of contradictions, and she can choose to stay pregnant or not. She chooses to keep it, because Cupid could use a sibling. Maybe this one will be a girl, she thinks, one Aphrodite can be friends with.

It’s late in her pregnancy when she finds out they’re twins, and there’s a risk only one will be a god of love, while the other’s calling will be war. She can always pass that twin off to Ares. He’ll probably give the baby to their younger sister Eris, but that’s fine by Aphrodite. Eris is a bitch whose son Strife is a jerk, but he turned out fine, depending on your definition of fine. There are worse parents.

Olympus is full of dysfunctional, incestuous family members whose origins are all messed up. But in the end, the key word is family. There are other pantheons, surely, but this one is her home. She’s not gonna leave just because things get tough. She’ll make it work; she always does. They all make it work, somehow. Poseidon hates Athena, and Hera hates Zeus, and Zeus likes banging mortals, and Ares likes starting wars. Hades keeps to himself, down in the Underworld, and Aphrodite keeps company with the fun lesser gods, the ones not absorbed in major world events.

This pregnancy is Dionysus’ fault. He makes some stellar wine.

* * *

Aphrodite’s twin sons are like fire and ice, and they’re both gods of fear. Most gods take on human-looking vessels, but her son Phobos stays intangible. At first, he’s a child, with glowing red eyes and a somber expression. He chills every room, not with actual cold, but the subtle sense of dread. If he touches your arm, your mind shows you nightmares. Phobos doesn’t do this intending to hurt, he just does it, like Ares exudes hate and Aphrodite spreads love, like the bonds between molecules.

If Phobos didn’t frighten her so much, he’d make her proud. Even Ares is stunned at how powerful Phobos is, but Cupid understands it from the start. Maybe because they’re so similar, their jobs so essential to the human experience.

Aphrodite’s other son is like fire. He’s like a really, really sloppily built fire, that takes hours to spark and goes out in a minute. That he shared a womb with Phobos is really freakin’ strange, but then again, it isn’t. Deimos is blonde, and tan, and full of energy like his mother. As a child, he was a bit much to handle, teleporting around and kicking people’s kneecaps. He’d throw a tantrum and bite your ankles, before he grew older, into a handsome young man who makes ugly faces.

Ares hands Deimos a sword and vaguely shows him how to swing it. Ares doesn’t care what happens to Deimos, because he’s already got Strife. Aphrodite wants nothing to do with him either, because his antics test her patience. They leave Deimos to make things up as he goes, for three hundred years until Callisto kills Strife and Ares wants a replacement.

Strife was older when he died, centuries older than a human, though his relationship with Ares made it seem like he wasn’t. Strife could pass for 25, and his attitude somewhat younger. The God of War is ancient, perhaps as old as the beginning of time, if Aphrodite’s own memories are any indication. They’re like their son Phobos, just updates of an older kind of magic.

The Goddess of Love prefers the role of Beach Babe, a flirty chick who charms her followers and makes everybody like her. It suits her well enough this century. Her magic showers mortals with golden stars and hearts, and she can make anyone want sex, anyone be nice, or anyone amuse her when she’s bored and needs a laugh. It’s probably what she and Ares have in common, because while part of her says, the part that sounds like Cupid, that she needs to be more serious, messing around with mortals is the best part of her job. No way can she raise Deimos with a lifestyle like hers!

Maybe Strife can be his tutor. They look physically alike, but Strife knows how to be menacing when he’s not acting like a goofball. Strife works very hard to be scary, succeeding only some of the time, but his pale skin and dark hair take him halfway there. He decks himself out in black leather covered in sharp, silver pins. A full bodysuit stitched roughly together, like a half-blind tailor grabbed every piece of black fabric he could and threw it together haphazardly. Strife can widen his sunken eyes and shoot you an unhinged, insane look, with a wide toothy grin that says, “Run away fast, and run now.” It isn’t until he starts speaking that you realize you’re not in danger, if you’re another god at least. Strife likes hurting people, but he likes talking at them more, his tone easy-going and casual. He has a smile that gives the opposite impression than he intends.

His mother is named Eris, but everyone calls her Discord, and she teaches Strife how to be playfully evil turning humans into game pieces. She has a cute smirk and a joyful laugh but is usually laughing when people are dying. If she’s making only minor mischief, she’s probably started a fight. Her unwitting victims turn on each other and Discord doesn’t lift a finger, just initiates an argument, then sits back to watch them go.

Aphrodite loves her family, but Discord pushes all her buttons. She usually torments people Aphrodite has just helped, and on the best of days, when they’re not shooting each other with spells, they’re trading catty insults. It gets vicious, too, because they slut-shame and tear down each other’s appearance. The way Discord styles her makeup, or the way Aphrodite wears her clothes.

Discord has fair skin and black hair like Strife’s, with blood-painted lips. She can wield a sword and is fond of daggers but dependent on her magic. To Aphrodite’s surprise, she spends a few years wearing a modest, silver-striped red dress and sparkling jewelry with her long, thick hair pulled up. Discord usually lets it all down, to frizz out and do whatever, dressing in low-cut armored corsets with short leather skirts and thick straps that scream “dominatrix.” She shows off her chest but always covers her arms, maroon fabric with the dress or black lace with the corset, with bracers around her wrists. Aphrodite suspects it’s where she keeps extra knives.

Discord and Strife can be found lurking in shadows, if they turn off their loud personas and switch over to stealth. But Deimos can’t make that shift, not that he ever tries. Deimos enjoys being the center of attention, cackling shrilly at every unfunny joke. He wears more carefully tailored, flamboyantly strange clothing than Strife, that he thinks makes him unique, and he’s not wrong. Oxblood leather with odd ruffles on the back and fringes on the sleeves, pants cut short worn with brown knee-high boots. He has spiky bleached hair and adorns himself in fine silver accessories, enough to kill a pack of werewolves.

Aphrodite’s not sure he can change the high pitch of his laugh or the campy way he talks and moves, and she thinks he shouldn’t have to, but his chosen field is War. His threats of violence are serious, but it’s hard to take him seriously. He’s not the Muse of Comedy, he’s God of Terror, a title he chooses because no one else claimed it. He’s more like Strife and Discord than he’ll ever be like Ares, and all three of them want desperately to be Ares.

Strife won’t train Deimos, Discord won’t train Deimos, Ares won’t train Deimos, so Deimos trains himself. When Aphrodite says he’s just like fire, she isn’t being poetic. His magic attacks are flames, his glimmer when he teleports is red, and his spells look like crimson. She laughs when he slips up and sprinkles gold instead. He blushes fiercely when it happens, hoping he isn’t caught, because that’s what Aphrodite’s magic looks like, and he doesn’t want to be like Aphrodite. He watches Discord from a distance and tries to shoot just like she shoots, observes Ares casting spells and flicks his hands the same way. Deimos doesn’t dare ask for pointers, though, because he always gets shot down. He won’t want Aphrodite’s help, so she just watches, sometimes worries, and reminds herself he’s fine. He’s gonna be just fine.

* * *

Then Hephaestus is impaled on his own axe, Deimos is crushed by a cart, and Gabrielle almost dies until Ares gives up his powers to save her. Cupid comforts Aphrodite later, taking her hand, but Aphrodite shrugs him off.

Deimos was cruel and cowardly and aggravatingly arrogant, but she feels his brother Phobos nearby and he spreads sick fear through her gut. She resents Phobos right now more than ever, more than Deimos, just for standing close, because all she can think when he’s around is, _Our family’s days are numbered and Hephaestus is dead._

His presence doesn’t frighten Cupid, but Cupid wasn’t there. He didn’t see it. She wonders if Phobos makes her feel this way on purpose and doesn’t care about their family. Maybe he can’t care about anything. Maybe he can just go away, far away from them.

Aphrodite’s glad that Xena’s not dead, even though her husband Hephaestus is. Even though it’s Xena’s fault Aphrodite’s lost her love and she made the killing blow. Even though the Goddess of Love now wears all black and wears it for a long time after.

The only reason love still exists is because Aphrodite is still living. She’ll keep living long after the Twilight, because she saved Gabrielle’s life, she saved Eve and Xena, and she helped them fight Athena against her better judgement. Against her own wants and needs, she helped her God of War brother and the humans they call friends.

* * *

Two thousand years pass, and Aphrodite goes through several transformations. Her final years as Gabrielle’s guardian, before and after Xena’s death, are probably her most selfless, while still goofing off causing minor trouble. The young bard passes away at an older age than her warrior lover did, and she decides to have a child with a friend. That child has a child, who has a child, and so on, ending with an explorer named Janice Covington who finds her grandmother’s old scrolls. Aphrodite keeps an eye on all of them, but only sometimes, on the periphery. Her “big” bro Hercules stops aging, outliving Iolaus, so he leaves Greece to wander the Earth. He ends up in America. He does well too.

There are other gods out there, other pantheons, other religions and civilizations, and it’s a busy two millennia. Like humans took time, sped it up and ran with it. Hard to adapt at first, but in the 1990s, yeah, Aphrodite’s found her niche, baby. She slips into her old self like a pair of shoes that still fit. She wears high-heeled shoes now.

* * *

Angels, even fallen ones, are some of the most powerful entities to share Aphrodite’s planet, so while she’s down in Los Angeles checking on Hercules, the Great Lakes emit a sharp “ping” that draws her attention. She ‘ports there immediately, and the messenger god Hermes finds her in Chicago where she’s reaching out and searching, puzzled by the vibes she’s picking up.

“You won’t believe this,” he says, and they’re meeting in a new coffee chain called Starbucks that started in Seattle and is spreading across the country. She sips a mocha latte, but Hermes doesn’t order one. He’s jittery enough, excited about something, and she can picture the shaking, restless wings beneath his jeans.

“There are gods in Wisconsin,” he says, like this is news, when Aphrodite knows American gods are everywhere now, old ones brought to the shore by immigrants and new ones popped into existence with every new belief. Her lack of response prompts him to clarify, “Our gods. Our family. Your son.”

Aphrodite squeezes the mug she’s holding and pulls back on her strength just a bit, so she won’t break it. If Hermes is joking, it isn’t funny.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” she says, keeping her tone light, because the idea is absurd. Because two thousand years ago her son crushed his spine and her husband got impaled, and her uncle turned to foam, and her sisters bled out, dying, on a marble floor right in front of her.

Hermes grins, because he wasn’t there.

“I know, right? That joker got a second chance.”

Aphrodite swallows thickly, and she wants to tell Hermes to please stop playing with her emotions. But she’s the Goddess of Good Times, the Goddess of Sex and Love. Aphrodite is super cool and super chill, and even if it’s true, well then, it’s good news and Aphrodite likes good news, doesn’t she? It’s the best kind.

“I don’t understand,” she replies honestly. “What do you mean by second chance? Are you sure it’s him? ‘Cause Terror’s not a stranger here, and I’m pretty sure he’s got the job.”

She’s talking about the American god of fear who grows stronger every day, and Deimos used to call himself the God of Terror, because he was a smart alec who wanted to be just like Ares.

Hermes explains, “No, no, I mean Deimos. And your little sister’s there, as well. She’s been hanging out with two fallen angels, whose signal we were getting. She got an apartment with Strife in Milwaukee. Oh, right, Strife’s alive too.”

Aphrodite is overwhelmed and trying very hard not to show it. She smiles. She’s good at smiling.

“Fallen angels? Are you on something?” she asks playfully, because Hermes and Dionysus like to party. They all used to party together, before spreading out across the world. Mount Parnassus was where she got pregnant in the first place.

“One’s a former grigori and the other was Angel of Death,” Hermes says, as if Aphrodite would know what that means. He smiles, widely and genuinely, in response to Aphrodite’s fake one. “I’m serious, ‘Ditee. Check them out and you’ll see that I’m right.”

Which little sister, Aphrodite could ask, but if she’s living with Strife, it’s none other than Discord. And hers was an especially stupid death that day, if not the stupidest. Discord would charge headfirst into danger impulsively, because she always figured she could teleport out of it. Enraged by Poseidon’s death, Xena’s sword being enchanted didn’t cross her mind, because swords ran right through Discord without leaving a scratch. They hurt like a bitch, but her skin mended rapidly. Fight after fight after fight, cheating her way through with red eyes and blue electric bombs.

If she’s the one with Deimos, it’s not clear if he’s gonna be fine.

But this is insane, so Aphrodite parts ways with Hermes and goes to Milwaukee herself. She follows the strange sensations to the angel’s apartment, the one who defied his parent god and was banished to Wisconsin. Aphrodite wonders how long he’s been here, if he’s been here through the continent’s whole history, and if the natives to the Lakes were bewildered by his presence or dismissed it. None of the details matter. The angel looks friendly enough, like a young man no older than 30, and so does his companion, the former grigori. An ex-god like Strife fits with the crew well enough, albeit powerless and human and very confused, rolling with the punches because he’s got no other choice.

He’s been freshly killed by Callisto, if Aphrodite is any judge. Freshly for a god, at least, because he’s been here for 5 years. Discord’s been here for a month. Strife and Discord, together again. Flunkies to the God of War, secretly striving to replace him. Deeply attached to each other, yet always one small step from mutual betrayal. They hadn’t spoken in years when Callisto killed him. Strife finds out that for her it’s been thirty.

Aphrodite doesn’t want to spy but does it anyway. She can’t help herself. She’s got a busy job as Goddess of Love, but this feels much more important. Strife tells Discord it’s been five years, she tells Strife it’s been thirty. The angels tell him about the Twilight, Discord confesses she was sleeping with his cousin. He finds this news more shocking than anything else. She asks him if Deimos is alive, but Strife tells her he’s dead. Discord shrugs off the grief but Aphrodite sees her cry in private later. Discord hears a love song on the radio and hates it, her tears making her mascara run, so she punches a mirror, and it hurts her hand. Glass shards don’t just pop themselves out of this body, so she needs stitches. The shards cut deeply, but not as much as losing Deimos. Strife shakes his head, uncomprehendingly, not getting why she’d want to smash every window.

It’s hard for her to adapt, so Discord’s his new project. Strife has friends and lovers here. Coworkers and neighbors and a whole community of people who think that he’s weird but just normal enough. But Discord’s fingers always itch to cast spells, and sometimes she forgets that she can’t. It’s not so much an inability to change as a lack of desire. She’s bluntly stubborn, and Discord was a good liar back home, but her kneejerk reaction to challenges here is loudly complain that she used to be a goddess.

This habit gets her in trouble, so much trouble, that for her first few months in town Strife needs to rescue her more often than he’d care to. This is how she meets Dennis, a fake psychiatrist whose boorish personality complements Discord’s, but the man starts to fall in love with her, and it would be funny to Aphrodite if it wasn’t so sad. Discord’s not gonna change for him, not yet, and he’s only set up for heartbreak. Aphrodite thinks it’s not a terrible match, all things considered. He keeps Discord grounded.

Then Hermes comes back with the news he’s tracked down Deimos.

* * *

They’re in a divey punk bar this time, because Hermes wants to show her in person. He points Deimos out and Aphrodite spots her prodigal son in the back, drugged out of his mind on who-knows-what. He’s still recognizable, his style not too different from the kind they rocked as gods. Still blonde, and the hair suits him more now, surrounded by people with similar cuts. Same silver jewelry and gaudy earrings, but the 1990s are a dangerous time to stand out. Some earrings on men say something very specific.

The bar is crowded enough not to notice he’s kissing a man, not a woman, because the women here look androgynous and cut their hair very short. Both genders spike their hair and dye it bright colors, but you can tell a girl by her makeup, or the cut of her jacket and tightness of her jeans. Her son’s partner is no girl, and while everybody banged everybody back in Aphrodite’s day, this is 1998 in the midwestern United States and it’s a Very Different Time.

Aphrodite chastises herself for judging. She’s happy to see people having fun and in love. Every sexuality, gender identity, human and god and demigod alike, she encouraged them all to bang because life is short. There are far worse things people can be doing. She watches their son and thinks of Ares, and when he liked having fun with her. But pushing humans towards murder was Ares’ own sick brand of fun.

Kissing a man in Wisconsin in the ‘90s is playing with fire, but Deimos was always drawn to fire, and it’s the drugs that worry her more. If he were still immortal, Deimos could overdose and wake up the next day, his vessel quickly healing like nothing ever happened. Dionysus could get you loaded, and you’d make mistakes like having two crazy twins with your brother, but at least you’d still look hot, not drained of serotonin and hungover as shit.

People are looking, so the human stops kissing him, casually adjusts his jacket and stops touching his arm. Deimos is stupid, always was, so he follows the man’s lips before the guy pushes him away and shakes his head, eyes saying, “Not here, not now.” Aphrodite sighs. Why are humans so afraid all the time? She looks over her shoulder and glares at nothing, as if Phobos is lurking.

The music is deafening, and while the man stopped kissing Deimos, he hasn’t gone away entirely. He’s handing Deimos pills, probably more pills than he’s already taken, if her son’s blown out pupils are any indication. Her heart aches for him and it’s embarrassing, because this is Deimos, who was a villain that she barely called family. Aphrodite always wore her heart on her sleeve, and she loved Hephaestus and Hercules and all her friends and followers, but she didn’t show love to this young ex-god in the corner, leaning heavily on the wall, eyes shut tight letting the music wash over him.

Okay, so he’s publicly kissing guys and taking unknown drugs, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get in trouble. Then she finds out he has nowhere to go that isn’t another party, another sofa, another house that isn’t his or backroom of a club.

Aphrodite’s fear is building, and her other son might be haunting her. She glances out the corner of her eye, just in case, to tell him to buzz off. She’s the Goddess of Love for crying out loud. Optimism is in her job description. But she remembers Deimos’ charm wears off quickly, if he has any at all. Deimos makes friends by being crazy enough to entertain them and chases them off by being annoying as hell.

This scene isn’t totally dysfunctional, because punks have lives and an economy of bars, food, music, art, clothing and drugs. You can throw your money away on drugs but make enough by playing songs. If you have a talent of some kind, you can trade it for something else. There are straight edge people here too, who avoid alcohol and drugs entirely. The people floundering are people like Deimos, who doesn’t know how to do anything.

* * *

For a god who had a very particular sense of style back in the day, whose personality was rigid and unchanging, Deimos manages to navigate several different music scenes. 1998 Milwaukee’s nightclubs are exciting for this region, unlike the quieter, more subdued Milwaukee of 2019. He finds bars where the guys won’t push him away, where his jewelry and his voice and his mannerisms won’t get his ass kicked or worse.

That’s not to say he doesn’t go where the women are too, rough ones who find his arrogant posturing amusing, who gleefully beat him in arm wrestling contests and throw beer bottles with him at trains. Women who play electric guitar and bang their heads, whose pads he crashes at more often than his male lovers, because girls have nice bathrooms. Until the morning, when the women realize how drunk they were and kick him out.

Aphrodite wonders how sustainable this lifestyle can be, because it’s April when he arrives in Wisconsin and next month is October. Snow is coming.

That’s when Discord nearly destroys her own life, and Aphrodite wasn’t keeping an eye on her sister because she figured she and Strife were a team. They could take care of each other, just as they had for years. But Discord freaks out, finally, and gets herself arrested. Thankfully, this is when she meets Dennis the psychiatrist. That’s when Aphrodite has a genius idea. The love goddess decides using her powers rather than watch from the sidelines is the best use of her energy. If she ensures Deimos is safe and happy, she can leave this cold city behind and go back to her life.

Dennis has a secretary, the kind of punk rock fan Deimos likes, who’s a wannabe musician. The girl has an apartment, a car, a college degree and a band. She has a nice place to live and she likes funny guys. She’d probably get high with Deimos and flirt for a night, then leave him in the morning, so that’s where Cupid’s powers come in. They’re gonna make a classic match, something Cupid does less now than they did back in the day, because there are so many humans, too many humans, to keep track of who’s banging who.

Cupid will do it, because he loves his mom, and he also loves his wife so maybe he’ll relate. Maybe. Hopefully. He doesn’t like forcing matches. He hasn’t in a very long time, if he ever did.

“Why on Earth did you summon me here? To Wisconsin?” he asks.

“Because I need your help.”

**To Be Continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the Hell is Going On:
> 
> Loki and Bartleby, two fallen angels from the 1999 fantasy-comedy film "[Dogma](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dogma_\(film\))," an Angel of Death and grigori respectively, are banished to Wisconsin by God after Loki slaughters the first-born Egyptians, gets drunk and tells God he will no longer kill people for him. Loki gives him the finger so God banishes him and his friend Bartleby to a fate worse than Hell, [eternity in Wisconsin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g18hbchYOH8), and also bans all angels from ever drinking alcohol again. (Yes, that really is the backstory to the movie.) Their involvement was part of EiCC's original draft, way way way way back 20 years ago, and makes as much sense as anything else in this ludicrous series.
> 
> I looked up what nightclubs were like in Milwaukee [in the 1990s](https://onmilwaukee.com/buzz/articles/generation-x-milwaukee.html), and was surprised to discover the city was quite lively, while in the 2010s it's the opposite, other than Milwaukee's massive annual event [Summerfest](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Summerfest), the "world's largest music festival." Madison, the capital of Wisconsin, still has an active and varied music scene. In spite of Wisconsin not being a total borefest in reality, the reason this fic series ever took place there is because of that (rather unfair) line in Dogma about it being worse than Hell.


End file.
